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Jul 1
He
paints my wings black,
in forbidden pleasures.

When his horns run along,
my fantasies are made real.

Piercing my skin,
he penetrates purity.
Inside of me melts down,
my body ignites,
cremated and relieved,
to the death of an angel.
Renée Brookes
Written by
Renée Brookes  25/F/Washington, US
(25/F/Washington, US)   
195
 
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